


Hindsight

by FangBanger



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangBanger/pseuds/FangBanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hindsight can be the ugliest head ever reared in the face of eternal happiness, but every choice has its consequences; sometimes the end result isn't as bad as they feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Morning After The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during The End of the Affair, the night they drove home from Chicago. I figure if I do this just right, I can slip it into canon without affecting much. After all, it was after this episode the little touches started happening, shoulder bump over chili, the way to a vampire's heart, faux bite during training, etc… I figure maybe something a little more may have happened that night than just the end of a road trip. Perhaps something they weren't quite ready to face in the harsh light of dawn…

Title: Hindsight

Part 1 of 3: The Morning After The Night Before

Author: Roguie/SunSpecOps/ FangBanger (Yes, I have MPD... shush!)

Genre: The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Damon/Elena

Rating: M – naughty language, naughty Elena, very naughty Damon. Definitely not safe for work.

Spoilers: Only up to The End of the Affair – takes place S3.

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries doesn't belong to me; I just like to borrow the characters and mutate their inner voices. What can I say? It's fun. Please don't sue, my house is small, my car is useless and my dogs are pains in the arse, but they're all I have.

Summary: Hindsight can be the ugliest head ever reared in the face of eternal happiness, but every choice has its consequences; sometimes the end result isn't as bad as they feared.

 

~~~Prologue - The Morning After The Night Before~~~

He could have driven through the night and had them home in five or six hours. He could have dropped her off on her doorstep and let Ric and Jeremy try to put the pieces of her heart back together the way only family could. He could have washed his hands of the whole situation, gotten away scott free, have had a glass of bourbon and a curse for his brother on his lips before the sun even began to rise in the sky. Hindsight, however, didn't wrap her long, olive skinned legs around his hips wantonly, or whisper devastatingly beautiful words into his too eager ears. Nope, hindsight was a cruel mistress that reared her ugly head only in the glare of a harsh morning light over an unfamiliar headboard, slapping him in the face with reality as she illuminated the fall of soft locks of hair, shockingly dark against the pallor of his flesh. His soft curse echoed through the motel room as if he'd screamed it from the rooftops. Hindsight only ever stepped in during that brief moment of time before she opened her eyes and he'd be forced to recoil from the horror that lay within her chocolate abyss.

He was screwed. Royally screwed. Screwed with a capital fucking "S" screwed.

In all his life, Damon Salvatore had only been truly afraid of one thing, and as she stirred in his arms, long eyelashes trembling as soft lids fluttered a complaint against the brightness of the morning, he steeled himself against the terror that froze even the next to imperceptible beat of his heart.

"Damon?"

Her beautiful voice was a siren's song to his soul, and for a single moment she met his panicked gaze with gentle chocolate eyes, confusion mixing with sleepiness, a tiny smile tugging at her lips, wrapping soft tendrils around his heart, lying to him, and for that single second he believed everything would be okay.

When reality hit home, however, all traces of relaxation dropped from her face, her body moved from his as if she'd developed her own form of vampire speed, her hand darted first to her necklace and then to her neck as if checking for damage, and then she finally truly looked him in the eye.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice timid and trembling, although he'd never admit to that fact again.

Yep, hindsight truly was a stone cold bitch in the light of the morning; now he knew, without a doubt, there was no worse feeling than waking up naked beside Elena Gilbert, only to watch her beautiful eyes fill with venomous tears that tracked paths of carnage down her cheeks and directly through his heart.

Well. Fuck.

~~~TBC~~~


	2. A Heart Only Hurts if it's Beating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, the first bit was more a teaser than a chapter – but it was a fun introduction, yeah? If this chapter seems at all harsh, please understand, I love the coarser side of Damon. I often times find myself missing the old Damon and love playing with him at the apex of his evolution, which is where we find Damon in this fic. I find myself nervous posting this because this isn't Depressed!Damon, or Drunk!Damon… this is just Damon, raw, needy, and royally pissed off. And I kind of luffs him. :)

~~~Part Two: A Heart Only Hurts When It's Bleeding~~~

~~~Hours Earlier~~~

"The hell with Mystic Falls, Elena. The Scooby gang can keep it together for one night. I've just been staked with a tiny fucking umbrella so many times that if I tried to drink a coffee right now, it'd probably percolate right through my goddamned chest! So if you don't mind," the sarcasm dripped from his lips like poison, "we're going to get a room, I'm going to shower and have a snack, you're going to sleep and we can deal with the rest of the hysterics in the morning."

The aching sadness at having lost Stefan had spread too far for her to argue. The dullness of the pain surprised her, in a way; she honestly expected something a little more visceral than the dull resonation of loss. Stefan was supposed to have been her epic love, the kind to last centuries, books would have been written and songs sung of the passion to end all passions they had shared. She should be shattered, her heart the victim of the shrapnel his words had contained as he sent her home like a lost puppy. Instead, there was only the quiet whisper of finality, the ache of verging away from the familiar, the inborn fear of immanent change, and below it all, a quiet sense of relief that shocked her to her core. Stefan Salvatore was no longer her cross to bear, nor was she his. She almost groaned with the feeling of freedom that now swam through her veins, dousing it only with a tiny lingering flame of guilt that insisted she should feel a million times worse if she'd ever truly loved him at all.

She poked at her feelings tentatively, finding that under them all lay a writhing mess of anger, breeding the negativity that filled her soul. As Damon disappeared into the washroom and the water for the shower began to run, Elena found herself at the window, looking out over the parking lot, listening to the music that pounded out of the bar on the other side of the road.

In her entire life, Elena had found only one sure way to burn through negative emotions, and sleeping next to Damon Salvatore in some seedy motel room certainly wasn't it.

With a single glance back at the half closed bathroom door, Elena grabbed her purse and slipped soundlessly from the room. There was a hell of a long time to go before last call.

~~~E~~~

He had to admit, this was one of his better ideas. Low grade by the hour motels in the middle of butt fuck nowhere weren't normally his gig, but the water was hot and the pressure was strong which meant when he wrapped the soft white towel loosely around his hips, water droplets falling from his hair to create tiny damp trails over his shower heated flesh, he was far more relaxed than when he pulled in.

Thank God for small favours. At least now he'd be able to make a respectable attempt at taunting Elena with his partial nudity, flash her a cocky smile complete with dimples and smoking hot crystal gaze, and maybe it would be enough to steal her thoughts from his psychotic baby brother long enough for her to get some sleep.

Briefly, he wondered if he'd packed any sleep clothes for her, having taken ample advantage of her morning shower to throw odds and ends into her duffle, including that hot as fuck purple slip of a dress she'd surprised him by actually wearing tonight. Just thinking of that dress clinging to her perfect body as if it were made specifically for her made him salivate like a hungry dog, and he couldn't stop the stray thought that wondered if she'd been brave enough to wear the slinky purple lace bra and panty set he'd tossed in her bag seconds before she'd reappeared from her bathroom. He closed his eyes, clenching and unclenching his jaw as the provocative images danced through his visceral imagination, forcing him into a powerful struggle for control.

The little minx had no clue what she did to him, no idea how stretched was his tether on his lust for her, and yet every day he managed to find the small reserve of strength and willpower he had hidden away to stop himself from over stepping their unspoken bounds. He kept himself safely in the friend zone, all of his love, lust, jealousy and anger buried far too deep for her to see, waiting, always waiting, for her to turn around one day and truly see him.

Tonight wouldn't be that night, he was certain, but at the very least he could dance on the invisible lines of their relationship and see how far he could push them back.

"Miss me?" he said with a smile, stepping out into the bedroom only a half of a fraction of a second before realizing he was alone. "Elena?"

The panic came to agonizing life in his voice before his body even registered the sudden rush of adrenaline through his system. His phone stuttered and stalled as it balked at the speed his fingers moved over the numbers, frantically dialling Elena, setting it to speaker and throwing it on the bed as he dressed at a speed that may have threatened to break the sound barrier.

For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer, before on the sixth ring, her slightly annoyed voice answered with a terse, "I'm fine."

Damon took a deep, calming breath before answering in a low tone, his panic morphing to a sudden anger, unmistakeable in the cut of his voice. "No, Elena, you're not fine. Obviously if you were fine, you'd be in the motel room where I left you alone for fifteen goddamned minutes. If you were fine, you would have had the courtesy to say something along the lines of, 'Going for a walk, Damon, back in a bit.' Or, 'Going to grab something to eat, Damon, want anything?'. If you were fucking fine, Elena, you wouldn't have left me here wondering if my taking a goddamned shower got your danger prone ass finally killed!"

He heard her teeth click together as she set her jaw in anger and sure enough her next words were spoken in a tone that could have flash frozen palm trees in a desert. "Going for a drink, Damon, don't wait up." And with that, the line went dead.

The music in the background had given away her location, but the knowledge that she was only a hundred feet away barely made a dent in soothing the panic driven rage that coursed through his veins like a tidal wave of negativity. Each step he took towards the lively roadhouse, with its thumping music and tacky neon lights, was accentuated by his mental list of insults that he wanted nothing more than to scream in her face.

Insolent.

Sullen.

Self centered.

Spoiled.

Inconsiderate.

Suicidal.

Stupid, stupid little girl.

It took him no time at all to reach the bar doors, less time to slam them open and stalk inside, filled with the self-righteous anger that could only be born of unrequited love. The pounding beat almost over whelmed his sensitive hearing, forcing a tired hand to his temple as he glanced around the room. A couple of guys lingered at a pool table, absently taking shots, obviously not truly caring about the game. A scattered few couples shared the dance floor in front of the juke box and speakers that were at least half responsible for the onset of his sudden migraine. A group of guys were huddled at the end of the bar, watching something intently before nearly simultaneously throwing back their heads, cheering and laughing, and only then did Damon catch a glance of olive skin wrapped in a scrap of purple fabric as the group parted around her at their core.

Damon watched in silent horror as she slammed a pint glass on the bar, knowing she'd just downed the entire beer in a single go, at least judging by the impressed looks on her groupies faces. His eyes narrowed as the bartender appeared with a new pint of draft and a tray of shots. Blood rushed to his face and neck as one guy pulled her onto his lap, holding the shot glass just below her lips, cheering her on as she surrounded the rim with her teeth and tossed the entire thing back without hesitation, the burning liquid a river of fire down her throat. Damon's rage increased ten-fold, his own heart beat deafening him as it pounded traitorously loud, as while she sipped on her new pint, the stranger's fingers sought out the hem of her dress, caressing the soft hidden flesh of her thigh only a moment before pulling her to her feet and out onto the dance floor.

Fifteen fucking minutes. He left her for fifteen fucking minutes and she was already three sheets to the fucking wind, and now he was going to have to break a guy's hands before they got any further up her skirt.

Red hot rage flickered behind his eyes, the likes of which he'd not felt in a century. He'd picked that dress for her because it was mouth wateringly hot and he knew just by looking at it, it would hug her every curve. It had been selfish, but he was always fucking selfish, and he wanted to watch the soft material flow over her achingly beautiful skin. He'd picked it so she'd feel gorgeous and he'd have a few more mental images to file away in the longing for Elena corner of his mind. He didn't pick it so that Billy Bob fucking Hickboy there could find out which fucking panties she'd chosen to wear, just fifteen minutes after meeting her.

Reigning in what was left of his self-control, Damon moved across the dance floor to where his girl was being pawed like a goat in a petting zoo. The asshole didn't even have enough sense to have a decent technique. Damon stood behind Elena for an entire five seconds before the hick focussed his attention on him, which was the exact moment that Damon smiled.

"Hey, there, Billy Bob. In case you've got any misconceptions about what's happening here, let me enlighten you on your very near future. You have exactly one second after I finish speaking to remove your hands from the lady's body, or I will remove them from yours, as slow as I can possibly manage."

Damon lifted an eyebrow and blinked calmly, allowing the barest hint of veins and fang to take over his features.

"One."

He didn't pause to acknowledge the trail of urine the man left on the dance floor; he merely took Elena's arm and walked back to the bar, any effort she made to resist unnoticeable against his strength and anger.

"What are you doing, Elena?" His voice dripped false nicety, only serving to magnify the depth of his rage.

"Making friends, Damon," her voice was equally as sweet, his name dripping from her lips with venom he didn't know she possessed.

His jaw clenched tightly, his fingers moving to the side of her face, still trembling with anger, achingly gentle against her skin.

"I thought we were friends."

She rolled her eyes, setting her own jaw with determination. "Making new friends."

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with the ones you have?"

She couldn't fight the urge to lash out, to hurt someone as badly as she'd been hurt over and over, and as always, it was Damon who wore the target. Funny how when it was him, she couldn't ever seem to miss.

"I've learned that when you want to feel alive, it's better not to hang out with the dead."

Damon swallowed; the only outward sign of how deeply her words cut him was the slow crumble of life that burned in his glacial gaze.

"You want to feel alive?" He asked harshly, his voice colder than the blue of his eyes.

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know! I just want to feel something!"

He nodded with understanding, his breath escaping his nose in a huff of warmth. "So, what? You're looking to hook up?"

She had no words for him, but her skin betrayed her intentions by flushing a deep red and her body trembled softly beneath his hold.

"If you're looking for a rebound fuck, Elena, you should've just said." He waved his hands up and down his body, holding her motionless with his relentless gaze. "Undead sex god at your personal fucking service." Every word dripped disgust, but he couldn't stop, they kept dropping from his lips like a tsunami of despair. "'Cause, baby, I can fuck all night and never even break a sweat. Not one of these dicks could have a hope against me; you know it, I know it, and all you gotta do is say the word."

Elena gasped at him, her eyes filled with disbelief, but as her body betrayed her, her heart beat quickened, her arousal thickened in the air around them, and her breath stalled in her throat, Damon smiled. His smile was filled with ice and steel, his eyes betrayed nothing, and the set of his jaw told her the ride wouldn't be soft and gentle, but maybe, just maybe, his hatred and disgust would be exactly what she needed in this moment of change. Even if it ruined them. Even if it made them better.

"I thought as much. Come on, Gilbert, we're a hundred feet too far from getting this out of your system, and then we can just go the fuck home and pretend the entire fucking day was an acid trip nightmare."

He watched as her mind screamed at her to stop, he could practically read every thought as they crossed her gaze, but almost as if she was compelled, she followed him from the bar and back to their room.

Damon spoke a good game when it came down to it, but inwardly he cringed with every step. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Their first time together should have been filled with startling epiphanies, soft words filled with emotion, ridiculously loving kisses, music and candles and the works. Yet here he stood, turning the key in the lock of a seedy motel room in Hickville, USA, because of the simple fact that he couldn't, for a single second, let another man lay so much as a finger on her.

If she had an itch that needed scratching, he was going to damn well grow a set of perfectly manicured nails and scratch like no one else ever could.

As it turned out, that evening was a blaze of glory, burning bridges, no going back kind of night. When the sun rose over the horizon, nothing would be the same.

~~~TBC~~~


	3. The Tangled Web

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, dialogue! I'm branching out folks, and the characters have finally started actually talking! Which can be good or bad for you lot, because once they start talking, it means they have a lot more stories to tell. I'm afraid this fic took on a mind of its own, tonight, and changed tones right in the middle of it on me. In the end, *gasp*, a touch of fluff may have snuck its way in. Damn far too deeply in love characters.

~~~The Tangled Web~~~

Once the door shut behind them, the lock turned, the real world kept at bay, Damon gave her no further time to reconsider. His lips met hers in a rush, her startled gasp swallowed as he forced her mouth open, his tongue suddenly free to explore her sweet breath, tasting everything. The wet heat that met his tongue instantly fried his higher reasoning and his arms tightened around her body, pulling her flush against him even as he backed them into the door. Her body arched against the rough wood pressing into her sensitive skin, hard enough that she was forced to break their kiss to catch her breath, her actions only giving him an opening to find softer, sweeter skin upon which to lavish his rabid attention.

Damon lowered his lips to Elena's throat, strong teeth nipping at her vulnerable flesh as she struggled to pull lung fulls of air down her rapidly constricting passage. A single warm finger slipped under the hem of the sinful dress she'd worn with purpose that night, to tempt him, to tempt Stefan, to tempt whomsoever wanted to lay eyes upon her as she fought not to drown in desperation.

When he moved his mouth back to hers, that stray finger dancing along the edge of her lacy panties, he easily swallowed her sudden moan, drinking the sound into himself, wishing he could fool his heart into believing that any of this was real. Even while his fingers tore her dress from her flesh, his knee pushing her legs open so he could rest himself against her, aching hard steel dancing against molten desire separated only by denim and lace, the pain surrounded him. He loved the little creature writhing under his lips and fingers more desperately with each passing day. Her very will was his command, whether her wishes brought him potential death or worse, the torment of knowing her completely, from the inside out, only to leave him living with the fact that this would be the one and only night he would be allowed.

Grief and anger took over his actions and for the barest of moments, dark veins and blood shadowed his crystal gaze, fangs descending to hook into a lacy purple bra cup, pulling the lingerie from her body, snapping it without a moment of apology. Red lips hovered over a dusky nipple for a single breath before Elena found herself lifted from the ground, feet dangling a long moment and then instinctively wrapping around his thin waist, his mouth descending without mercy on the already hardened bud that now lay even with his stormy gaze.

When fang caught flesh, she screamed, arching into him with a force that caught him by surprise, her own movements driving her breast harder against his mouth, piercing her own skin before he could back away, delicate fingers wound in his hair as if she could hold him to her should he try to escape. He was helpless under her touch, lapping the small amount of blood from her chest, eyes burning with desperation; she was his oasis in the desert, his water as he dehydrated.

"More," she whispered hotly, tongue to his ear, legs tightening around him, trapping them together as he drank from the jagged cuts.

"No," he answered, firmly, lifting his head so she could see into his blood filled eyes, see the darkness within him, see the beast that held his soul.

She groaned softly, tossing her head back until it hit the door with a distinct crack, the pain enough to focus her, enough to give her some semblance of control. Fingers that were once wound into his hair now slid down his chest, inching between them to cross his stomach, delighting in the sharp hiss of breath he pulled between his teeth. Innocent fingers that knew nothing of raw need and pure desperation pushed further until the clasp of his jeans practically melted at her touch and the useless fabric pooled at his feet in a pile of condescending accusation, easily kicked out of the way. Wicked fingers wrapped around the thick length of him, pausing only then, as he pulsed and grew impossibly harder in her hand.

He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the sweet soft flesh where neck met shoulder, her name a wanton groan on his lips as he thrust slowly into her fingers, let the trembling that threatened to break free overtake him before walking her gently to their soft bed. Instead, he drove his teeth through his own lip, the hand that wasn't supporting her curled into a fist around the window sill next to them, wood shattering in his grip, splinters driving into his palm creating tiny fishers of pain that wouldn't heal, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

He wanted to lower her little lacy panties to the ground, hold her against the wall with a simple hand to her hip, forcing her knees apart, feel the way her silky smooth thighs would tighten around his head as ever so slowly he'd drag his tongue through her slick, heated folds, drinking down her arousal more eagerly than he'd swallow the freshest of blood. He wanted nothing more than to slide his tongue gently inside her, relish her desperate moans as he expanded his knowledge of her body, take her to the very edge with teeth and tongue before thrusting two long fingers into her core, and drowning in her eyes as she comes apart for him, around him, only because of him.

Instead, the last of the lace he'd jokingly packed for her snapped in his grasp, the ruined little slip dropping to the floor, immediately forgotten. He pulled her hand from his weeping cock with little thought spared for gentleness, and as he slammed her delicate fingers into the wood over her head, he found home between her thighs, ripping a scream from her lips that echoed somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

Too long, the angel in Damon whispered to him, giving him pause. She's been alone too long.

Her velvet core, hot, wet, sucking him in even deeper, drove the angel's whisper from his mind and for a moment he forgot that he was very large, and she was painfully tight.

This is what she wants, the devil in Damon cackled, and cheered as he pulled every inch of flesh from her body, only to slam home again equally as hard.

His jaw clenched tightly against the heated vice that was Elena. Her body held onto his with a pulsing, aching grip that was almost enough to drive him to the brink after just two long awaited thrusts inside. Only when he opened his eyes, ignoring the battle of wills in his mind, and caught sight of the single tear tracing down her cheek, did a small measure of control return. He brought a finger to her face, wiping away the tear gently, catching her lips in a slow, soft kiss, waiting as her grip on his body loosened and her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze.

He offered her no apology and she expected none, but she brought her free hand up to his jaw, urging his lips back to hers, tightening her legs around his waist, pulling him inside of her until there was no more room. When he slowly pulled back, every single inch of pulsing flesh focused on the dripping cavern within her that he longed to call home, the world shattered around them and the wheres and whys no longer mattered.

His thrusts had no rhythm, but Elena arched and mewled against him regardless. Each spearing entrance of hard flesh into her pliant body drove her harder and harder into the wall behind her, each curl of her hips to welcome him deeper brushed her clit against the man in front of her, and in no time the aching, craving want inside of her built to the highest peak she'd ever known, throwing her over and breaking her apart in his arms with his name a screaming prayer on her lips.

The moment her walls closed around him, clutching at him, milking him with a grip so tight that if he were human he'd know the sweetest of pain, the pressure inside Damon built with a damning force, and with two final thrusts into Heaven, he found agonizing release, spilling into her until he had nothing left to give.

He leaned into her until his knees could hold them no more, then his back met the harsh grey carpet of the motel floor, and Elena's head met the unsteady rise and fall of his pale chest.

They lay in silence for what seemed like forever, her ear over his heart, his fingers on her back, his still semi-hard dick proving a testament to his stamina as it continued to rest within her warm body, aching for the moment she moved so that they could begin again.

Don't say it, Elena, he thought, his outward expression never changing, even while his heart and mind twisted in turmoil. Don't fucking say that none of this matters. For the love of God, don't say it.

She shifted against him, maybe sensing his rapid descent into discontent, or maybe it was the unsteady beat of his traitorous heart that gave him away. Either way, he suddenly found himself lost in the sea of her quiet gaze. He tried to shutter off the emotions he knew were spiraling through his clear, blue eyes, but even as he settled into a lopsided smirk, offering her a teasing wink, he knew she'd seen more than he'd been prepared to give away.

It took little effort to redirect his attention to where their bodies lay intimately connected, a simple roll of his hips found him hardening and thickening within her once more. He chuckled as her lips, swollen and red, formed a tiny "o" as he stretched her from the inside out and neither could help the soft groans that escaped their lips simultaneously.

"One round not enough to get me out of your system, Elena?" He purposely kept his voice light, letting his eyes tease her as he very, very slowly pulled out of her aching folds, only to slip back inside with the barest amount of force.

Never! Her heart screamed at her, startling her with the ferociousness of the thought that she could lay there with him forever and never want for anything again. He was her best friend, her strongest ally, and greatest enemy. He was her doom and her savior all rolled into one deadly package, and she realized quite suddenly, that no matter what happened tonight, tomorrow, with Stefan or without, she'd never be able to let Damon go. Not completely. Not like he deserved.

Instead, she smiled down at him, rolling her hips in invitation, sliding her gaze to the bed behind them. "How about something a little more comfortable for round two?" she murmured softly, her smile dissolving into laughter as before she could catch her breath, she was on her back in the bed, Damon's body hovering over her.

"Fucking perfect," he whispered in a tone so reverent that it instantly broke her heart, tears springing to her eyes as he lowered himself back into her, sheer bliss radiating in his crystal gaze.

It's enough, they each lied silently to themselves. It will be enough. One night. Just one night. If they whispered the words enough it would become truth. It had to become truth. Only this time when they came apart in each other's arms, they held onto the other desperately, clinging to the lies their minds insisted on telling their hearts. Tears went unspoken, stuttered heart beats were ignored, and when Elena finally dozed off against his chest, Damon chose to close his mind to what it may mean that her hand was closed around his arm so tightly, even in her sleep her nails bit through flesh and drew blood.

~~~Back to the Start~~~

At first he mistook her tears as an accusation against himself. He couldn't miss the way she checked to see if he'd bitten her or compelled her, and his heart shattered dramatically, the way fragile things have a tendency to do, at the look of pure horror on her face.

He quickly shut away his feelings, battening down the hatches, so to speak, against the onslaught that was a naked Elena Gilbert about to lose her fucking mind.

The curse that slipped past her lips as she realized she couldn't blame the night on compulsion or bloodlust startled him, perhaps more than it should, knowing the dirty words that were capable of dripping from her ruby lips as they had with the force of a waterfall when he'd awakened her for round three. Nothing startled him more, however, than when she dropped the guise of modesty, letting the sheet fall to the bed as she climbed to her feet and walked naked into the tiny bathroom.

He watched as she spun in a slow circle, inspecting her body for marks and bruises in the full length mirror, a small frown puckering her lips when she found nothing.

"I drank from you?" she asked, flatly, clearly remembering waking him just before dawn by sinking her teeth into his lower lip, sucking down the blood she had freed before the tiny wounds healed over.

Damon shrugged, at a complete loss for words, expecting waterworks and dramatics, dreading the harsh words and accusations, dumbfounded by the frank acceptance and discussion.

"Probably for the best, anyway. Ric would have noticed the bruises and you'd end up snapping his neck, again, over nothing."

Damon swallowed soundlessly, unable to take his eyes off her body, even as he prayed for the strength to look anywhere else in the room.

He couldn't hear Elena's mind turning over, couldn't imagine how she cursed herself for pushing him, couldn't understand that her tears and regret were not for their actions but her own. She knew every button he had and pushed them all simultaneously to force his hand, and now, now she couldn't meet his gaze without crumbling. How could he look at her with such love and awe as he had that morning, raw emotion coupled with the panic she knew had everything to do with losing her. She'd taken his love and made him act on it, given him what she knew he'd longed for, and now she had to take it all back.

"We'll leave after breakfast?" she asked quietly, closing the door so she could use the facilities in relative privacy.

"If that's what you want," he answered shortly. "If we leave now, though, we can be home before noon."

She couldn't miss how ugly the word home sounded on his lips; it was something she was only beginning to understand: home was where they were together. Apart, all they had was four walls and a roof.

"I'd rather stay and grab something to eat. What's an hour or two more after the last couple of days? If you're okay with it, that is."

Please, she begged silently, we can go back. We're strong enough to do this.

"If you can't bear to let me go, Elena, you just have to say." He kept his voice light; the sparkle in his words didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a start.

When she came out, dressed, ready to leave, he was standing by the window in half open jeans, looking out over the parking lot. He could read the silent plea in her eyes and shattered under the weight that pressed down on him as he answered with his own gaze.

I'll do whatever you need me to. No matter what. No matter when.

She didn't want to understand the last of what his eyes spoke to her, but when he took her hand and pulled her to him, holding her for just a second before moving across the room to finish dressing, her heart and mind understood at once.

I'm yours, Elena, his eyes had screamed. Forgive me. I'm yours.

Then she was pulled from the room, unable to help laughing as he showed off his strength, carrying her to his car, plunking her down on the passenger seat, grinning at her from ear to ear.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love crappy motels in the middle of nowhere?"

She rolled her eyes, leaning back and propping her knees up on the dashboard. "No more motels."

"What's the matter, Elena? Afraid you won't be able to resist me… again?"

"Oh, my god, Damon! Shut up! I am never sharing another motel room with you as long as I live."

His grin widened. "Thank God, Gilbert. Do you have any idea how loud you snore?"

"I do not!"

His eyes flashed and he tossed her a saucy wink. "Hey, your secret's safe with me. I'm just saying I've got no clue how Ric and Jeremy ever sleep."

"Damon!"

"And let's not get started on the drool factor."

Elena groaned, letting her head drop into her hands as he deliberately droned on for the half hour it took to reach a Waffle House. She leapt out of the car and strode purposely across the parking lot, the vampire on her heels, and as he fell silent, she thought he'd finally run dry. Instead, just before they reached the door, she found herself shivering with unguarded pleasure as his breath whispered past her ear.

"You may have some explaining to do if you dream moan my name again, tonight."

"I didn't!"

"Two words – loud and clear."

"Just kill me."

Damon chuckled softly as he held the door open for her, loving her too bright chocolate eyes, sex messed hair that she couldn't quite tame, and the red burn in her cheeks that he lived to tease darker.

"Nope," he answered cockily, offering her one final teasing wink. "I love you too much alive and wriggling."

They were strong enough, maybe stronger now. Today they'd drive back to Mystic Falls. Tomorrow they'd make their Founder's Day appearance at the Lockwood Estate. Elena would help Caroline with her stupid senior prank night, and maybe by the time school started next week, she'd have gotten beyond the urge to pull Damon in for the longest, softest kiss he'd had in a hundred and seventy years.

At least whatever they'd become hadn't broken in the wake of her turmoil. At least together they were nowhere near as fragile as they were apart. Let Stefan have Klaus and his body count if that's what he really wanted. He was important, yes, but suddenly not quite as important as salvaging her friendship with Damon.

"By the way," Damon started nonchalantly, "You're welcome to wake me up any time, if you're ever in need of another… bite." He snapped his teeth together with a sharp crack and raised an eyebrow at her in jest.

This time she laughed before she could stop herself, shaking her head at their own ridiculousness and the undeniable feeling of warmth and comfort that she couldn't stop spreading through her every vein.

She was one waggle of those eyebrows away from falling in love.

She was so screwed.

"Coming over tomorrow to help me cook?" she asked before she realized the words were out of her mouth.

"Don't you mean, 'Coming over tomorrow to cook while I sit on the counter and distract you with my delectable legs?'"

"God, Damon!"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Princess."

She groaned. He laughed. The waitress arrived to take their order and nothing had changed. If he touched her just a little more often now, a little more intimately now, she was determined not to notice. In hindsight, she probably could have found a less explosive way to burn through the negativity that had threatened to eat away at her soul, but for the moment, watching as Damon carved his toast into the shape of vampire fangs, offering her a faux roar before consuming the tattered piece of bread, it just didn't seem to matter.

They would make it through.

~~~Fin~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope everyone enjoyed the fic - love to those of you who dropped a line, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your time. :) See y'all with the next one. :)


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